


I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions

by ImogenGotDrunk



Series: Fuck pride timestamps [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids figuring out their emotions, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gavin is a good boyfriend, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, RK900 your violent side is showing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenGotDrunk/pseuds/ImogenGotDrunk
Summary: He doesn't spot the shooter in time.-Gavin takes a bullet for R.K, and R.K deals with some new emotions.





	1. Shut up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work title from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

He doesn’t spot the shooter in time.

  
**_SCANNING.........  
100%_**

**_SCAN COMPLETE_ **

  
“This was s-such a stupid f-fuckin’ idea–”

  
**_Diagnosis: PUNCTURED LUNG........._**  
**_SEVERE BLEEDING........._**

  
“Your lung is collapsing. If you speak again instead of saving your breath, I’ll shorten the process and collapse it myself.”

  
_**Fatal blood-loss IMMINENT** _  
_**Urgent MEDICAL ATTENTION required** _

  
_**SURV1VAL PRO#ABILITY** _  
_**> 46%<** _

**  
** “I m-mean, what the f-fuck are we even f-fucking doin’ here–”

“Gavin, be _quiet_.”

He snaps. He doesn’t intend to snap.

R.K’s scans are chaotic, completely scrambled, though he’s been dealt no physical damage himself thanks to Gavin's interference.

**_  
<<You’Re pAnickin9<<How unprofession4l<<<_ **

  
In retaliation to his own muddled outputs, he aims his gun around the corner. Fires. Hits the shooter in the gut so that he’ll bleed out slowly. The suspect may be dead within the next ten minutes, at most. And if not, then R.K will take the short journey down the corridor, and press the heel of his shoe into the man’s wound until the job is finished.

But he can hear the sirens approaching, “Stay awake,” and the footsteps of back-up searching the rest of the warehouse.

Someone, somewhere, made the wrong call. This job was ill-prepared; whoever caught lead of the dealers’ base of operations should have called for more than a mere two detectives, and now one of them is **_dy1ng >>ERR0R>>_** because of someone else’s fuck-up.

“W-who the fuck c-called this in, I’ll f-fuckin’ kill ‘em–”

“Shut up.”

R.K resists clamping a hand over Gavin’s mouth. He doesn’t have a free hand to do so, anyway; one is still wrapped around his gun, and the other is pressing, as hard as possible without causing further damage, over Gavin’s chest to slow the bleeding.

“B-bunch of f-fuckin’ assholes… we sh-shouldn’t ever trust the guys d-downstairs, R… they got no f-fuckin’ clue about f-field work–”

“Shut _up_.”

Gavin scoffs. It turns into a cough, and blood hacks up from the damage to his lung. “S-seriously, whoever th-thought it’d be clever to c-call two f-fuckin’ detectives out for th-this shit, they’re f-fuckin’ dead–”

  
_**SURV1VAL PRO#ABILITY**_  
_** >32%<**_

  
“ _Shut_ _up!”_

His voice breaks. _There’s a first time for everything_ , Hank had once said to him. Though R.K suspects that, at the time, the figure of speech was supposed to sound optimistic.

Realistically, there is little to be optimistic about. If the ambulance doesn’t arrive within the next three minutes, then it is likely that Gavin will die.

People die every day. The reality of it should not make R.K feel the way it does. He shouldn’t be feeling this, any of this. He shouldn’t be feeling _anything at all_ , he isn’t human, he shouldn’t be _able_ to feel it, why did Markus wake him up, _no one_ should feel like this, no one should have to watch the man they **_lov3 >>ERROR>>>–_**

“H-Hey…” A cold and bloody hand reaches up and cups his jaw, though the contact is weakly given. “S’okay, baby… I’ll b-be fine… h-had way f-fuckin’ worse in th-the past, and I’m st-still here, aren’t I…” Gavin’s attempt at a smirk is shaky, pallid, and very much needed.

R.K, with short-lived relief, feels his scans un-jumbling themselves to a minor degree. He also finds himself discarding his gun – now that the shooters are taken care of and the immediate danger has passed – in favour of keeping Gavin’s hand firmly in place against his jaw. And it remains there until the paramedics arrive, barely a minute gone by.

  
_**SURVIVAL PRO#ABILITY**_  
_** >67%<**_

  
Gavin is stolen away in the ambulance, and R.K follows far faster than central Detroit’s speed parameters allow. After he crosses down the warehouse’s corridor, places the heel of his shoe over the still-breathing shooter’s throat instead, and _snaps_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A majority of asks on my [tumblr](https://imogengotdrunk.tumblr.com/) have been about Gavin taking a bullet for R.K, so I wanted to write it.  
> Also R.K crying for the first time? Y'all are hoes for angst but I like it - that will be in chapter 2.


	2. You're okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work title from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

Gavin wakes up sore, and with his head pounding against what feels like the worst fucking hangover of his life.

The warehouse feels like some hazy dream; blurred and jumbled, but at the same time, vivid in its colours, and concentrated in its sounds. And the sharp jolt of pain riveting through his chest when he inhales packs the last punch of reality that Gavin needs. No dream, for sure.

He was shot.

It’s a testament to how long he’s been on the force that all he feels at the knowledge is a tight kind of resignation. He expects it’s what most seasoned cops feel in this position. _Yeah, I got shot, what the fuck else is new_. It isn’t even the first time this year; the fuck-up in March just hadn’t been enough to send him to a bare white room with a shitty hospital gown and even shittier hospital coffee.

Stubbornness has him shuffling under the thin bed cover, and struggling to open his eyes. Fatigue is thick in his muscles and on his tongue, but he manages; scrunches his forehead and blinks against the lights overhead until the room becomes more than just a muddle of dim, cloudy shapes.

He’s not alone. And it’s another fucking testament, only this time, to the last sixteen years he’s spent without a partner in the DPD. A giddy rush of pride surfaces at the evidence that R’s there, and has probably been there the whole time.

“Did you threaten to collapse my lung, you fuckin’ asshole?”

It’s not _unbearable_ to speak, but it still fucking hurts. It’s worth it, though, in Gavin’s good opinion, just to see the quirk of one extremely unamused eyebrow.

“I can still make good on that threat, if you attempt to move any further. This is a very small room,” R points out, “and you are in no condition to fend me off.”

Gavin loses his smirk immediately. R’s is the last voice in the fucking world that should be wavering like that. “Hey– Hey, you didn’t even go get cleaned up?”

Gavin takes in the windswept hair and specks of dried blood over R’s face; darker and deeper patches on his hands and jacket, and several scrapes along his arms from barely-avoided bullets that have torn through his casing; leaving the thrumming, blue pulses of various wires visible beneath.

“You look like you just walked out of a fuckin’ slasher movie, how the fuck did they even let you in here?”

“They didn’t try to stop me,” R counters, as sharp and cold as he is in their interrogation rooms. Though a slight curl fights at one corner of his mouth when he adds, “And I did show them my badge. They are aware I’m with the DPD.”

Gavin vaguely acknowledges, as he tries to shift into a more upright position, that anyone willingly stepping in R’s way must have balls made of stronger shit than steel. And his pathetic scrambling must garner him some sympathy, because R’s hand is on his arm, effortlessly tugging him upwards until he’s resting against the pillow behind him.

Gavin rubs a hand over his face, feeling the familiar, constricting coil of bandages around his chest. “How long since they brought me into this shithole?”

“Eight hours.”

“Shit,” he sighs, digging the heel of his palm into his eyes to loosen some of the tension. “Out for eight hours, no wonder I feel like did after Chen’s thirtieth. Head’s fuckin’ killing me.”

“You’re lucky that the _gunshot wound_ didn’t kill you.”

Gavin risks a glimpse at R’s expression, but finds nothing but the usual calmness there. Save that his jaw is clenched, and his posture is straighter than normal.

“Though considering the extent of your injuries, there was less surgery required than I had predicted,” the android adds, and the remark is fucking surgical. Callous, almost.

Gavin would be pissed off by the sheer amount of uncaring in R’s tone, only he’s not a fucking idiot. There’s more to it than that; there always is, he’s learned, when it comes to R.

And Gavin knows how to handle it, even bedridden with a busted lung.

“Shit, you’re all heart,” he scoffs, shrugging back against the pillows and hoping he’s not just being a fucking moron. “You’d think I’d scraped my fuckin’ knee or somethin’, the way you talk about it. Not bleeding out in a warehouse eight hours ago, in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

It gets him what he wants. A _response_. A quick but unmistakable flare of something in R’s eyes. Shock, or anger, or regret, something Gavin can’t quite define, but it’s definitely there, and it definitely doesn’t match with the indifference that was in R’s voice.

And now he’s seen it, Gavin foregoes the teasing immediately. He doesn’t have a fucking death wish, despite having taken a bullet that day. He’s not stupid enough to risk pushing further now that he’s found evidence of what’s really simmering under R’s stubborn impassiveness.

“Baby, c’mere. I’m not doin’ this with you halfway across the fuckin’ room,” he adds, when R clearly hesitates, “c’mon.”

With a grace that no one covered in that amount of blood should have, R rises from the chair near the door and approaches the bed. When he’s close enough, Gavin grabs his wrist before he can argue, and gently pulls the android onto the edge of the rock-hard mattress.

“You’re angry with–”

“Furious.”

“Fuckin’ _furious_ with me,” Gavin amends, and feels an unnecessary amount of satisfaction when another smile tries hard to make itself known. It almost succeeds, but there’s still a heavy crease between R’s brows, and he’s looking anywhere in the room except Gavin. “Furious ‘cause I got shot, or ‘cause I was stupid and agreed to check out the warehouse without more information first?”

The android’s nose twitches. It’d be fucking adorable, in any other time and place. But when R answers, it’s tense, almost silent, and an emotion Gavin can’t name punctures each quiet word. “You moved in front of me.”

Gavin remembers now, haze clearing all of a sudden like a bucket of cold water’s been poured over his shoulders. A dozen men had rounded the corner, and they’d both been pinned. Gavin had caught a split-second glimpse of one of them, a bleach-blonde piece of shit with a denim jacket, on the walkway above them further down the warehouse corridor, and it had been too late to raise his gun and take him down before he’d fired.

The guy had been aiming at R. Poorly, but aiming all the same.

“ _That’s_ why?” He probably sounds like a real shit, but Gavin can’t help the incredulous, and slightly amused, note in his voice. R’s his whole fucking world, but the bastard has to know that Gavin would have done the same for any other officer in that situation. He’s a cop, it’s what they fucking do. “Baby, you’re my fucking partner. You know I’d have done the same for Chen, or Chris. Hell, even Anderson–”

“They’re _human_.”

“Yeah, _and?_ What, just ‘cause you’re made out of titanium or whatever, you think I’m just gonna step the fuck aside and let you get shot? No fuckin’ way–”

“Humans are–”

“Humans are fragile, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gavin’s heard that particular argument before, more than once, but he runs his thumb over R’s hand to soften his disdain. “Spare me that bullshit, sweetheart. Androids ain’t so tough either. I mean, what’d happen if we stood you next to a six-foot magnet, huh? You’d be totally fucked.”

It’s probably on the list of the dumbest shit he’s ever said, but Gavin can’t complain when R gives a soft snort in response, and he’s definitely fucking smiling now, _thank fuck_.

“If you think we’re fuckin’ fragile, I should tell you ‘bout the time Tina cracked open a pineapple with her head.” Another snort, louder, and Gavin grins through the pain behind his chest at the sound. “I’m serious, it was a fuckin’ work of art! She could’ve taken that shot no problem. I doubt she’d even be in here, bullet would’ve bounced straight the hell off.”

Quiet laughter follows, and a slight squeeze against Gavin’s fingers. _Thank fucking fuck_.

“So I got a little roughed up, big fuckin’ deal. Anderson’s been in the field, like, what, a hundred years? And he’s still kickin’ around, right?” Gavin takes one hand away from R’s and ruffles it through his own hair, probably making it messier than it already is. He stifles a wince when raising his arm strains his ribs. “And next time, if worst comes to worst, we’ll just bring Chen along as a human shield. Should’ve thought of that tonight, we’d be downtown getting piss drunk right now instead of–”

He cuts himself off when he sees that R’s not laughing anymore. His LED is red, and Gavin feels the hand beneath his own shaking. _Not good_. “Babe–?” Something deep in Gavin’s stomach clenches when he cranes sideways and sees that R’s eyes are wet; that careful control slipping however suddenly and tears starting to spill freely, though he makes no sound that would give them away. “R–”

“You wouldn’t have been injured if I’d seen him–” R’s voice breaks off, the composed edge to his voice crumbling completely. “I didn’t, I… I should have been faster, I should have seen him first...”

 _Not good, not good, not fucking good_. “Hey– hey, R,” Gavin tries to take his jaw, tries to angle his gaze towards him. “Baby, c’mon, look at me–”

“I-I don’t… I…” R’s looking down at his shaking hands, Gavin’s fingers still clamped around his wrist. The red circle at the crest of his brow is now flashing wildly, mirroring Gavin’s pulse to the second, “Wh-what’s happening, why–”

“It’s okay, you’re okay–”

“I d-don’t understand–”

“You’re okay, baby, c’mon, come here,” Wrestling against the very loud tirade of _no’s_ that his bruised and broken body screams at him, Gavin pushes himself up and drags R against his shoulder, arms closing around him and lips pressed to his forehead, if only so he won’t have to see _that_ expression on _that_ face. “It’s okay, you’re fine–”

R shakes his head, “I-I don’t… what’s h-happening, th-there are warnings, I-I don’t…”

“It’ll pass, baby, you’re okay,” Gavin feels his own throat closing up, pressure pushing behind his own eyes because R’s never experienced something like this, never been through this fucked up process before and it’s because of _Gavin_ , and someone actually cares _this fucking much_ about him, out of all the fucking people in the world, and he buries his nose in R’s hair.

He can be here, though. If there’s one fucking thing he can do tonight, he can make sure his fucking boyfriend ends up on the other side of this knowing that it’s okay to have fucking emotions.

God knows, no one was there for Gavin the first time. “I promise, it’ll pass. It’s gonna be okay.”

R cries silently, no sobs or any sign of his state-of-mind, though his trembling speaks loud enough on its own. The red light flickering under Gavin’s chin becomes less sporadic as the minutes pass, and settles down into something resembling a measured rhythm again as Gavin runs his fingers through R’s hair.

Eventually, even the trembling subsides, and R sniffs against Gavin’s hospital gown, sounding somewhere closer to his usual self. “I… I’m sorry–”

Gavin’s hand clenches into a fist in warning, curled through the wayward tufts at the back of R’s head. “Don’t fuckin’ apologise, you psycho. You’re allowed to fucking cry when your boyfriend’s been shot, okay?” There’s a pause, and then Gavin relaxes when he feels a nod. “You feel fucking better now?”

Another pause, longer this time as though he’s contemplating. Followed by another, albeit slightly confused, nod. “I do.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ bet. You have a stick up your ass all the time, it must feel pretty good to let loose for once. Even if you’re ruining my fashionable hospital gown.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Gavin hears a chuckle escape against his shoulder, and feels R’s smile pressed against his skin.

It’s their normal, he supposes; one of them injured because they’ve made a dumbass decision, one of them with their clothes covered in someone else’s blood. But they’re laughing. And at the end of the day, Gavin resolves, does it really fucking matter what they’ve done or where they are; home, work, a fucking hospital, whatever.

As long as he can still make R laugh like that, then he’s good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post a short third chapter for this, which will be ready soon.
> 
> I hope you’ve enjoyed so far!


	3. Status: Operational

“Shitbird, I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter. I’m thirty-six goddamn years old, fuck off.”

This is a rich statement, indeed; coming from a thirty-six-year old man who cannot push himself up from on his own couch. “Captain Fowler has given me leave until the end of the week, Detective. And his authority far outranks yours.”

“Bullshit,” Gavin bites back, his mouth far quicker than his physical movements. “Authority my ass. From day fuckin’ one, you’ve just liked making my fuckin’ life harder.”

“On the contrary. My staying here is only improving your situation. I’m not the one who has been shot,” R.K points out, “so I’m able to move about freely, should you need anything. It’s only logical that I stay.”

He hears Gavin’s head hit the arm of the couch several times. Rhythmic. Measured. It’s intentional, of course.

“If there was ever a fuckin’ incentive not to get shot again,” the Detective mutters under his breath, but he no longer seems determined to rise from his position. Mia has positioned herself on his stomach, anyway, and R.K knows from many an experience that attempting to remove one’s pet from one’s person is a futile venture.

Having resigned himself to idling in Gavin’s apartment until the weekend comes, R.K puts some homemade soup in the microwave, ignoring the various curses and complaints filtering in from the living room. R.K was not designed for household tasks, of course, but he has found that there’s a certain satisfaction in the routine of them. Particularly in the mornings. Coffee, breakfast, entertaining Mia so that Gavin can have an extra few minutes of rest, before trying to lure him out of bed with eggs on the weekends. Facing such domesticity for himself over the months, R.K has begun to understand why Connor seems so content with tasks that may appear mundane on the surface.

There is little gratification to be found in the tasks themselves, but that is evidently not the point. It is the _outcome_ that is gratifying. And R.K takes pride in Gavin’s grudging acceptance of the soup, heated to an ideal temperature, just cool enough to start consuming immediately.

“Most people would say thank you by now.”

“Fuck off.”

R.K takes pity, and shifts Gavin forward so he can wedge himself between him and the arm of the couch. At least Gavin is upright now; leaning his weight against R.K’s chest with the bowl balanced in both hands.

“Thanks.” It’s little more than a quiet, rancorous mumble.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said _thanks_ , you fucking dick. Don’t expect to ever hear it again.”

“No one on this Earth would expect that much of you.”

The underlying malice of Gavin’s remark is rendered null and void by the way he is miserably snuggling back into R.K’s hold, trying to get as close as possible, and perhaps closer still. Mia must sense his misery, because she shuffles with him; nose rubbing at his hand and tail swishing anxiously. She is pestering neither of them for her own lunch; further evidence that their feline companion, despite her lofty disposition, has placed Gavin’s recovery as high a priority as R.K himself has.

“This soup tastes like fuckin’ carrots.”

“That’s because I added carrots.”

“Oh. Cool.”

R.K presses a kiss behind Gavin’s ear, forgiving the man’s stupidity as a symptom of his current despondent state.

In fact, they will both no doubt suffer their reality soon enough; that they are to be confined to the apartment for the foreseeable future, until Gavin’s strength has returned. Confinement is an undesirable prospect for a restless human, and an equally restless android. But R.K reminds himself to have patience. Gavin, despite his discrepancies, needs R.K there. And so R.K will stay.

After all, he cannot claim that they are an effective team if they do not see one another through their hardships.

A stomach that is not Gavin’s, because it is full, and not R.K’s, because that would be highly improbable, rumbles. It seems that Mia’s patience has reached its limits. “I should feed her.”

“Unless you want that pretty face scratched to shit,” Gavin agrees, and valiantly manages to stifle a wince as he shuffles forward to allow R.K to move. “You’re bringin’ that ass back over here though, right?”

R.K resists the urge to fondly shake his head, though he cannot restrain the smile. He rarely can, when it is just the three of them. “Of course.”

Mia’s eyes follow him and her ear gives an interested twitch, but she remains curled in the crook of Gavin’s arm. R.K deems it entirely necessary to pour more food than normal, as a reward for faithful behaviour, if nothing else ** _#ERROR_____________OVERaRIDIN9G………____________**

“Deviancy is tricky business. This is taking far too long.”

She stands opposite him on the bridge, pond water rippling calmly beneath them from the breeze. R.K takes in the blue-tints of her hair. She’s holding a rose, like always.

“You could be so much more effective, Richard,” she tells him, a look of deep determination hardening the creases around her eyes. “In time, I think you’ll see that. Something tells me we’re getting closer every day.”

She reaches for his hand, and presses the flower against his palm.

“Don’t worry.” She encloses his fingers around the petals, and smiles. Her eyes, however, are not kind. “We’ll get there. Soon, you’ll be as you were supposed to be ** _________________OVErA9RIDING………………_______________#ERROR_**

“Baby? Hey.”

R.K blinks, several times, and sees Mia beneath him, eating the food he has poured. He does not remember pouring it.

**_ERROR REPORT pending………  
100%_ **

**_UNKNOWN ERROR at 10:39  
1 of 26 UNKNOWN ERRORS in the past 3 MONTHS_ **

“You all right?” Gavin is leaning hazardously over the edge of the couch, peering through the kitchen with his brows pinched together. Concerned.

_**STATUS………**_  
_**100% OPERATIONAL**_

**_NO ERRORS DETECTED_ **

“You glitch out or somethin’?”

R.K does not remember. “No. Everything appears to be fully operational.”

“You were starin’ into space, you weirdo. You finally cracked?”

He smiles, and makes his way back into the living room. “Perhaps spending so much time with you has finally stressed my software. I feared it would,” he says, feigning resignation, and he shifts back into his previous position on the couch; Gavin nestled safely between his legs, reclining back into his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I call that bullshit anyway, I’m a fuckin’ delight.”

“You’re a fucking something, certainly. Though I do not think the word is _delight_.”

“A catch? An angel? A joy to be around–”

“A menace, perhaps,” R.K considers, and he accepts the hard elbow jab to his ribs with the upmost civility. “Yes, a menace seems like the correct description.”

Gavin chuckles, catching R.K’s jaw with one hand and craning his head around for a kiss. “I’ll fuckin’ take it. Ain’t the worst thing I’ve been called– _ow, fucking goddamn fuck_ ,” he growls, having craned too far and strained his chest. He slumps back dejectedly, looking pitiful and pouting and entirely endearing. “This fuckin’ sucks.”

“Then don’t get shot.”

“Oh geez, thanks Einstein, why the fuck didn’t I think of that.”

“You didn’t.” R.K squeezes gently, only to bring out the slightest wince to make his point. “Clearly.”

“You’re a fuckin’ sadist, you ass.”

“And you are a reckless fool.” R.K loops his arms lower, around Gavin’s waist instead to avoid any more wincing, and presses his lips to the back of Gavin’s neck. “And a menace.”

“And a menace,” Gavin concedes, and R.K decides that merely hearing the smile in his voice would be enough incentive for him to stay ** _#ERROR___________________________**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the kudos and kind words so far. I'm really enjoying writing in this garbage universe, and it's incredible to know that people are along for the ride with me <3 Love you all!


End file.
